


In Which Bligh Wakes Up Female

by Skud



Category: Historical RPS
Genre: Gen, Genderfuck, crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-05
Updated: 2006-03-05
Packaged: 2017-10-02 06:50:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skud/pseuds/Skud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain William Bligh wakes up female.  What, you want more summary than that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Bligh Wakes Up Female

**Author's Note:**

> For the aos_flashfic "Beginnings" challenge.

It was not the best way to begin the day.

The first thing Bligh noticed when he woke was that the ship wasn't moving. Run aground? No... surely he would have felt the shock of impact, no matter how much he had drunk. The second thing he noticed, as eyes began to clear from their sleep-fog, was that the cabin was larger than usual, its bulkheads more distant and... leafy? _Oh... yes._ Hut. Leaves. Otaheite, and he was ashore, and his head was as heavy as a cannon-ball after last night's festivities.

It wasn't until he sat up, feeling strangely off-balance, that he noticed he was female.

"Christian!" he yelled, more from habit than anything else, then wished he hadn't. His voice hadn't sounded like that since he was a mid. A woolly-headed savage popped his head around the door-frame and ducked away as Bligh threw a shoe at him. No doubt the native would fetch Fletcher Christian, the _Bounty_'s second in command, and Bligh was far from certain he wanted him after all.

It had been the breasts that he'd noticed first of all, swinging in front of him as he'd risen from the mattress and instantly forming unpleasant pools of sweat in the tropical heat. Bligh now took a fearful glance down the front of his shirt, then clapped the ruffled front tight back against him and buttoned it at the neck.

He was just in time. Christian ducked through the low doorway, touched the brim of his hat, then gaped and turned pale under his tan as his mind caught up with what his eyes were seeing. He clutched at the door-frame and swayed slightly, and Bligh felt a sudden, vindictive pleasure that Christian, too, was feeling the results of last night's celebrations.

They had come here to acquire breadfruit, of course, arriving at Otaheite six months previously and spending most of the intervening time planting and growing breadfruit saplings. Six months, during which the entire crew had come and gone freely between the island and the ship, spending most of their time ashore with the Tahitian women and getting tattoos and turning half native themselves.

Finally, yesterday, they had completed their work. The fat chief of the island had invited them to a feast before they departed, and so, after a busy afternoon loading the _Bounty_ with young plants packed carefully in crates of their native soil, the men of the Bounty had at last come ashore around dusk to find the whole village in a state of high holiday.

"Shall I -- shall I fetch the surgeon, sir?" asked Christian.

"No, damn your eyes! Stay where you are." Christian sat on a low stool and stared at him.

"Did you -- I mean, are you --"

"Blast and buggeration! Shut your trap, or I'll --" He tailed off, hearing the high, weak tone of his own voice, and seeing the beginnings of a smile flicker across Christian's face. Bligh frowned. "I suppose you find this amusing."

"No, sir." He ruined it by breaking into an irrepressible snigger, and Bligh was up across the room, flinging his hand out to strike Christian a blow. But Christian caught it easily and held him away at arm's length. "I think, sir -- or should I say ma'am? -- that you had better sit down. Exertion cannot be good for you."

"Cannot be -- what the devil do you mean?"

"I mean, in your condition -- ma'am."

"Condition? _Condition?_ Devil take you, you whore-begotten whelp! I am your Captain!"

"Ma'am!" Christian seemed shocked. "You must not speak like that! Now please -- do be seated." He guided Bligh back to the bed and sat him down on it. "There now. I'm just going to... to find one of the women." He retreated from the hut before Bligh could swear at him again.

One of the women? What the devil could any of them do for him? It was one of those filthy savages who had got him into this fix to start with, he was sure. He had sat beside the chief at the feast, and one after another of the black-bosomed wenches had brought him food and drink, served on palm-leaf plates or in the shells of coco-nuts. Perhaps there had been some kind of potion in his food; he could hardly remember what had been given to him later in the evening. Yes, it must be some kind of heathenish prank; if that were so, he thought very ill of their idea of hospitality.

Hospitality, pshaw! For all that the hut was clean enough, and the bed quite civilised, he would much rather have slept aboard ship, as was his duty. Instead he was trapped here, unable to emerge in case any of his crew should happen to see him. Trapped, and with... without... without...

He groaned and fell back on the bed, curling into a ball and covering his eyes. He'd managed not to push that particular thought aside thus far, but he knew -- he could tell -- that _it_ was gone. His knees were pulled up to his chest, and instead of feeling it nestled safe in the curl of his body, there was... nothing. He dared not look, or even reach down with his hand to feel, but he _knew_. And he could feel an openness, an unfamiliar brush of the fabric of his breeches where they stretched over his... his...

He stood up quickly and paced back and forth, which was hardly better, but at least movement was something. He would make them turn him back. He was an officer of the British Navy, God damn it, and he had a ship, and though the _Bounty_ was a small one she was at least armed, and these savages had nothing but spears and rocks. Whatever sort of game the savages were playing at, a few four-pound balls tossed among their huts could convince them to stop it quickly enough.

Though, now he thought of it, he hardly liked to consider what his crew would say to it. He tried to imagine himself on the quarter-deck giving the order to fire, and the tittering insubordination of the men. They had never much liked or obeyed him before, and now... He choked back a sob.

At that moment Christian returned with one of the Tahitian women. While Christian was still attempting to hide his mirth, this creature was grinning broadly, white teeth standing out stark in her dark face, deep chuckles making her shoulders shake. She carried one of the strange bark blankets that the women of the island wore, and held it out to him.

"Wear _aihoo_," she said. "No wear..." She gestured at his breeches. "Soon find you _tane_."

"A husband," explained Christian helpfully.

"Get out!" cried Bligh, dashing the blanket aside. "Out! Out! Out!" He managed to chase her out, still laughing. He turned to Christian. "Make them turn me back."

Christian shook his head. "Maimiti says it's irreversible."

"Bugger what Maimiti says. That fat chief of theirs -- what does he say?"

Christian shrugged. "You could ask him, I suppose. Shall I request an audience?"

"What? No! Not like --" He gestured helplessly down at his figure. "_You_ ask him."

Christian's amused grin flickered, and he paused a moment before answering. "I don't think so," he said.

"_What?_ I said, sir, that you will go and ask the chief what in damnation he's playing at, and have him turn me back immediately."

"I hardly think I can do that, ma'am." His smile returned, more confident, and he stood a little taller. "You see, I only take orders from my Captain, and much as I appreciate the female sex, I have never known one of them to be an officer of His Majesty's Navy."

Bligh protested, and flew at him again, and stormed and shouted, and then wheedled and pleaded, and all the while Fletcher Christian stood smiling in equal parts condescension and enjoyment, reiterating from time to time his intention to take command of the _Bounty_ now that its rightful Captain was missing -- or incapacitated -- or at any rate unable to take command. The Tahitian villagers gathered around the hut, peering in curiously through the doorway, as Bligh damned him to hell and wished him at the bottom of the sea. At last Bligh stopped, exhausted, in the face of Christian's calm assertion and sat down sullenly on the edge of the bed.

"Will you really treat a lady so ill?" he asked, ashamed of the plaintive tone of his own voice but nonetheless hoping that it would move Christian to charity.

Christian nodded. "I will."

"You, sir, are no gentleman."

"Neither are you, ma'am," replied Christian with a smirk, then turned on his heel and left.

The _Bounty_ sailed the next morning, Christian standing tall on deck and saluting Bligh jauntily as they got underway. The waist was crowded with breadfruit saplings and dark-skinned women; Christian, to Bligh's disgust, had chosen to take Maimiti with him, and allowed many of the other men to take native wives as well.

Bligh turned away from the sight and walked up the beach towards his hut. Christian, damn him, would take the breadfruit to the West Indies and return home to accolades and thanks, while Bligh's career was in tatters. He could hardly imagine a worse fate. _I'll never live this down,_ he thought.

 


End file.
